


Work It Out

by Dolavine



Series: spn_masquerade fills [13]
Category: Supernatural, Wincest - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Bathroom Sex, Frotting, M/M, Public Hand Jobs, Sexual Frustration, Teasing, Underage Sex, pubic sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-12
Updated: 2016-05-12
Packaged: 2018-06-08 01:26:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6833218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dolavine/pseuds/Dolavine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been days since Sam and Dean have been able to screw around, and they jump on the first chance they get: some truck stop bathroom with their dad waiting for them in the car.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Work It Out

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [spn_masquerade](http://spn-masquerade.livejournal.com/7665.html?thread=2436337#t3154929)

One hundred and thirty-seven miles: that’s what the triptometer says on the car. Dean’s been keeping an eye on it since they left the motel. Sam’s camped out beside him in the back reading his comic books and occasionally peeking up over the top to give Dean a look.

There is a lot of tension going on between them, and John isn’t oblivious to it; he’s just oblivious to the fact that it’s _sexual_ tension. 

“You boys better resolve this before we hit Ohio, ‘cause I’m not leaving you in a motel to kill each other,” John says as he watches them in the rearview mirror.

Dean sighs hard and looks over at Sam. “Hear that, squirt?” he says and nudges at Sam.

“I heard him,” Sam replies in a dry monotone. 

The thing is, Sam’s had a hard-on for two days, ever since their dad got back from god knows where and interrupted the hand job Dean was giving him, leaving Sam unfulfilled. He couldn’t even take care of it himself because every time he tried, Dean told him to wait, that when Dad left again, he’d give him a blowjob to make up for it. 

Dad hasn’t left.

Dean keeps watching Sam out of the corner of his eye. He wants to run his hand from Sam’s knee up to his dick and then squeeze it. Finally, he can’t hold back any longer and takes action, slowly creeping his hand across the seat and touching Sam’s thigh, then quickly pulling back. 

Sam doesn’t flinch; he just inches his leg closer, his eyes on the rearview mirror, making sure that their dad isn’t looking back. He wants more, needs more, and to be honest, he’d let Dean have his way right now if they somehow wouldn’t get caught.

“Let me read your comic,” Dean says, using it as an excuse to move closer to Sam and press against him without being suspected of anything. 

“Sure.” Sam can read Dean’s dirty mind, and well, having Dean almost on top of him isn’t going to quell his hard-on, but it will help with the aggravation of being so far apart from him.

They’re snuggled together for miles, Dean’s hand tucked under Sam’s thigh, Sam nestled into Dean’s hip. Sam’s dick is hard and raging; he has to drape a blanket over his lap to hide the obvious bulge. Dean, too, is barely in control of his own body. His cock is pressed tight to his thigh as it struggles to get free and his heart is beating so fast that he gets lightheaded if he forgets to slow his breathing down as he’s fingering Sam’s ass through his jeans. He wants to kiss Sam’s lips, which are curled up into a nervous smirk.

Three hundred and twelve miles, and Dean’s very antsy and a little bit hungry. He leans into Sam’s ear and blows hot as he whispers into it, “Are you hungry?” It’s a double entendre, one they can pretend is innocent if John overhears. 

Sam looks at Dean out of the corner of his eye and exhales exasperatedly. The skin behind his ear is prickling and he wants to giggle at the tickle ghosting over the shell. “Yes,” he whispers back.

“Dad, we’re starved,” Dean declares.

John looks in the rearview mirror. “We’ll stop, son, as soon we see a place.” He pulls a chocolate bar out of the breast pocket of his jacket and hands it back. “Share this with your brother.” 

Dean unwraps the bar, then hands half to Sam. “Sweets…” he lowers his voice, “for my sweet.” He winks and gives Sam a big smile.

“Thanks.” Sam takes the candy and eats half of it in one bite. “I’m fifteen, I need more than half of a Hershey bar to fill me up, Dean.” Sam winks as he finishes off the candy and then slowly, almost methodically, licks the dregs of melted chocolate off of his fingertips.

Four hundred miles, and they finally come to a truck stop. John pulls in and Sam and Dean jump out to stretch their legs, while John goes over to fill up the gas tank. 

“Get a table and I’ll be right in,” John says, picking up the pump.

The boys go in and pick a booth in the back; they face the door so they can see when their dad comes in. Dean sneaks his hand down Sam’s back to slide his fingers inside of Sam’s jeans. Sam’s long gawky teenage body has a very tiny waist that leaves a gap in the back of his ill-fitting jeans, just big enough for Dean to caress the cleft of Sam’s ass, just enough to tease him, keep him wanting more until they can finish what they started two days ago.

“Jesus, Dean,” Sam whispers as Dean’s fingers dip below the waistband, slide into the tender cleft, and begin to stroke it. Sam’s cock, which has been at half-mast for almost two hours, is now fully hard. “Quit teasing me,” he begs.

Dean shoves the greasy diner-style menu in front of Sam and scoots in closer, as if they’re reading over it together. “Nope, I want you ready,” he smirks, and smoothes a little farther down, the tips of his fingers nestling between the crest of Sam’s cheeks. Sam clutches the tabletop and fights against rotating his hips, fights the urge to kiss Dean with eyes watching them and their dad liable to catch them at any second.

The bell on the door jingles and they both look up to see John scanning the room for them. Dean groans and removes his hand, sliding away from Sam while signaling their dad to the table.

They order and eat with few words between them. Sam runs his foot over the top of Dean’s boot a few times and up his ankle, above the boot, to his bare leg. Dean gives him shifty looks and shy smirks as they hide in plain sight from John. Dean keeps looking at the sign pointing to the restrooms, his brain working on a plan to get Sam in there, alone.

“Okay, boys,” John says, wiping his mouth and throwing the paper napkin into the gravy still on his plate. “Time to go.” He grabs the ticket and slides out of the booth.

Dean looks at the restroom sign again as he shovels the last soupy spoonfuls of ice cream along with soggy crumbles of pie crust into his mouth. “I have to hit the head, dad,” he says, grabbing Sam’s wrist as he slides out of the booth. Sam furrows his brow and Dean cocks his head towards the sign; Sam sees it and makes wide eyes as the hint sparks like a lightbulb.

“Yeah, better drain the snake before we hit the road again,” Sam concurs.

“Don’t be crass, Sammy,” John says, ruffling Sam’s hair. “I’ll pay the bill and be out in the car.” He throws a few dollars for a tip on the table as the boys hurry towards the restroom.

Once inside, Dean crouches down and looks for feet in the two stalls. “Empty,” he says, and proceeds to shove Sam against the wall, covering Sam’s body with his. Sam’s still hard when Dean reaches down to cup his crotch. 

“Gotta be quick so Dad doesn’t catch us,” he says and kisses Sam’s mouth. It’s needy and frustrated as he crushes their lips together.

“Not sure if I can last long,” Sam grunts against Dean’s relentless mouth. He kisses him back, his hands sliding under the soft flannel shirt to grip Dean’s back through his black cotton t-shirt. 

“Don’t need to last, just let me finish you off,” Dean mumbles as he sucks and nips his way across Sam’s jaw.

“Oh God, Dean.” Sam digs his fingers into the muscles of Dean’s back, pulling Dean closer and canting his hips to thrust into Dean’s hand, hard.

“Gonna make you feel so good,” Dean purrs as he nips Sam’s earlobe. His hand squeezes Sam’s erection through his jeans. “Need your jeans to be gone.” He shifts his attention to undoing the buttons on Sam’s fly and then shoving his jeans and boxers off of his hips to the middle of his thighs. Sam’s cock springs free.

“Shit,” Sam moans as the head of his hard prick brushes the rough denim of Dean’s jeans. 

Dean quickly undoes his own jeans and pulls his cock out. He lines it up against Sam’s already-leaking dick and wraps his hand around them both. “Gonna make you come all over my dick.” Dean’s breath is hot as he mouths Sam’s neck.

“God…” Sam exhales. He’s so turned on by this point that he’s not sure if he can hold back much longer. He’s pumping his hips into Dean’s grasp as it roughly moves up and down over their cocks.

“You make me crazy.” Dean’s words are muffled as he sucks a dark circle into Sam’s shoulder, making sure it’s far enough below the neckline so the hickey can be hidden. His hand strips over the hard flesh; Sam’s dick is dribbling long slick strings of precum that Dean’s thumb gathers up and smears down over their shafts. 

“You feel so good,” Sam whispers, his mouth buried in the short hairs at Dean’s temple. Sam’s knees are weak from the pleasure as he thrusts his hips forward with each downslide of Dean’s hand. 

“And you’re amazing,” Dean gasps as he bites Sam’s earlobe again and then runs his tongue along the shell of Sam’s ear, the salty taste bursting on the tip of Dean’s tongue.

“Faster,” Sam pants, and he picks up the pace as he grinds into Dean’s palm.

“Your command,” Dean says as he shifts his hand and slips his middle finger between their cocks. His free hand moves down to Sam’s ass and squeezes as he shoves Sam’s body into his own. Dean’s hips are canting faster, his cock bumping off of Sam’s, his middle finger fluttering between them.

“Jesus,” Sam cries out. He digs his fingers into Dean’s sides as he forces his cock hard against the push of his brother’s hand, rotates his hips and moans with the intense sensations of Dean jacking them off. “Not gonna last,” he groans out. His cock is jerking and leaking streams of precum, the slick smearing all over them both and easing the rough burn. Sam’s belly is hot with a swirling pool of heat and his balls have pulled up. He bites his lower lip and exhales hard as he orgasms, the first spurt shooting between them. 

“Yeah, Sammy,” Dean coaxes. He covers them with his hand and squeezes their cockheads together. He thrusts his hips, grinding both swollen, sensitive heads into his palm. “Come on me, little brother,” he whispers.

Sam whimpers and moans as he shoots out again and again, hot and fast, the wetness stifled against Dean’s rough flesh. He leans forward and bites Dean’s shoulder through the soft flannel, quieting his moans as he finishes coming.

“That’s it,” Dean encourages him. Sam’s wet heat coats his hand and cockhead, and Dean can barely stand it; he closes his eyes and lets the wave of passion wash over him as he comes, the thick mess mixing with Sam’s. He’s panting and groaning as he spreads their mingled orgasm over their throbbing dicks with several slow pumps. 

Sam shudders, a low noise escaping his throat. “Can’t — can’t stand it,” he moans. He leans back against the wall for better support. Dean leans in and kisses Sam’s compliant mouth.

“Gotta go, Sammy.” He steps back and looks at Sam’s limp dick lying wet and satiated against his thigh. “You’re beautiful.” He brings his cum-drenched hand up to his mouth and licks across his palm, tasting their combined fluids. “Delicious,” he coos with a satisfied smile, licking his lips clean of the shiny mess.

“You’re going to kill me,” Sam chuckles weakly as he fixes his jeans. He watches Dean’s eyes, still staring at him from the dingy mirror, as he washes his hands. Dean kisses the back of his neck, making him shudder, as he washes his own hands, his arms around Sam. Then they pull it together and rush out to the car.

“I was getting ready to come in there,” John says gruffly as they climb into the backseat. 

“Sammy had issues,” Dean says, winking at Sam. 

Sam glares back and nudges him. “Yeah, right, Dean.” He slams the door as John cranks the engine.

John shakes his head and pulls away from the diner. “Whatever.”

 

The End


End file.
